Forbidden
by Hiddlestoner1998
Summary: Sherlock gets a text from Irene he can't ignore. Sherlock / Moriarty / Irene, mainly Sherlock/Moriarty
1. Chapter 1

*disclaimer* I don't own any of these characters (sadly).

He'd gotten into the habit of receiving texts from Irene, and dismissing them as nonsense, but this one he just couldn't ignore.

_I know what Moriarty likes. Maybe I'll show you_.

He'd seen the invitation as what it was, and he hadn't been able to resist. Her assistant had smirked when she saw him on the doorstep.

"She's with a client, but I don't think she'd mind if you joined," she nodded towards her bedroom, and Sherlock loosened his scarf as he went. He didn't bother knocking, just pushed open the door. And his mouth dried.

Irene was reclining in a seat, dressed in a skin-tight black dress, but it was the man on the bed who caught his attention. Moriarty was naked, facing the door, his eyes closed.

"I've told him to prepare himself," Irene explained, and Sherlock moved to stand beside her. "I had the feeling you might arrive soon."

"You expect me to obey you like he is?" Sherlock sounded amused. Her eyes narrowed.

"Yes, and I expect you to be happy about it. Otherwise I might not let you fuck him," a low whimper drew their attention back to the bed. Jim's eyes were wide, fixed on Sherlock.

"I knew you couldn't resist it," his voice was rough.

"He thought you might enjoy ignoring people's expectations for your own benefit," Irene explained, lips twitching. "After all, how many times does the great Sherlock Holmes break the rules?"

"More than he'd admit, I bet," Moriarty was smirking now, even while he stretched himself. He was lying on his front, eyes fixed on the pair of them.

"Undress for us, Mr Holmes," Irene commanded, and the detective didn't hesitate. To do so was to invite punishment, and he'd known what he was signing up for when he'd made his decision to come here. He left them on the floor at the end of the bed, facing Irene because he knew it was her inspection he was facing.

"Mmm. For now, I'll let you have your fun. Distract Jim while he stretches himself for you," Irene's smile was entirely self-satisfied when Sherlock leaned over the consulting criminal who'd moved so he was lying on his back. He pressed him into the mattress, pulling him in for a rough, biting kiss that made Moriarty gasp against his mouth.

Sherlock's nails dug into his hips, dragging him closer to him, and the other man groaned, lowering his head when the kiss broke to suck bruises along the taller man's jaw line, giving him marks he wouldn't be able to hide.

"I want you to fuck him," Irene stated. She'd discarded her dress, reclining there as naked as the day Sherlock had first met her. She was licking her lips, and both men knew this was as much for her pleasure as theirs. The Woman would never have it any other way.

Sherlock reached for a condom on the side, but a riding crop slapped his hand away, and he recoiled, waiting for instruction.

"Wouldn't you like to know he can feel you even after you're done?" Irene arched an eyebrow. Moriarty licked his lips, his eyes dark. Sherlock knew that she wouldn't have done this if she didn't know it was safe for both, so he slicked himself up with the lube she handed him, and he pushed into Jim, who had pulled himself up to his knees, his head resting on his arms.

A low groan worked its way out of the criminal, and a strike on his back from the riding crop made him jerk.

"Be quiet," Irene ordered. Sherlock was determined to see if Moriarty enjoyed the pain Irene had dealt out as much as he thought, so he fucked into him harder, his hips snapping and driving him deeper.

Jim gasped, and the riding crop lashed his back again, marking his skin. This time he couldn't suppress a moan, and Sherlock and Irene glanced up at each other, surprised and pleased.

"Who knew you were such a masochist?" Sherlock's voice was like velvet when he looped his arm around the criminal's stomach, pulling him up so his back was pressed against the detective's front and he was fucking up into him, his lips brushing the other's ear.

Moriarty was chewing on his lips, trying to keep himself quiet, as Irene had commanded.

"Let me hear you," she commanded. She was touching herself now as she watched, her eyes fixed on the pair of them as her lips parted on a soft sigh of pleasure and satisfaction.

Jim hissed out Sherlock's name, his hands reaching behind him to twist into his dark curls, tugging when the detective began to suck and bite at his neck.

Sherlock, curious and eager to see what his nemesis would do, raked his nails down his front, leaving welts, and Moriarty shouted out his name, his grip tightening in his hair.

"Fuck, Sherlock," he whimpered. This wasn't the same confident criminal he'd met before. He was completely undone, desperate and wanting. Sherlock revelled in the power he had over the man, even if he knew it would only last while they were in here.

Sherlock could feel his orgasm coiling, a liquid heat, and he glanced over at Irene.

"No need to touch him," he knew what she meant, so he refrained from touching the other's cock as she got up, moving to sit before them. Sherlock's next snap of his hips drove the criminal's dick past her parted lips, and Moriarty's moan didn't even sound human any more. Then Sherlock dragged his nails down his chest again, but it was the rough bite he placed on his neck and the Woman's clever tongue that had him coming, nearly _screaming_ his pleasure.

Sherlock wasn't far behind, biting down again to muffle his shout into the other's neck. Jim slumped to the bed, his skin mottled red and glistening with sweat.

"I might have to pay you a visit some time," Moriarty's smirk was back in place when he glanced at the man who was sat beside him. Irene was grinning lazily, back in her seat opposite the bed.

"Maybe without the audience," Sherlock's lips twitched when he glanced over at their hostess. Moriarty laughed, and Irene was apparently content to let them remain here for a while. Sherlock let himself relax beside his arch-nemesis, knowing this was probably the only respite he was going to get from the man.


	2. Chapter 2

Sherlock knew that his arch-nemesis had come to antagonise him, to elicit a reaction from him. But he'd seen the sparks of excitement and lust in his eyes, his pupils dilating as he leaned towards the consulting detective. That was probably what had resulted in Sherlock pinning Moriarty against the wall, the apple and its cryptic message long-forgotten.

"Oh, I've earned a reaction," the criminal's laugh was breathless, his eyes darkening even as he mocked the detective.

"Don't act like you didn't want one," Sherlock was close enough that their breaths were mingling, his eyes glinting as they watched the other man for a reaction.

"Oh, you caught me," Jim tried to laugh, but it sounded too breathy. "I wanted to provoke the great Sherlock Holmes."

"Don't lie. You wanted more than to provoke me, didn't you?" Sherlock's voice was low, and Moriarty visibly shivered. His eyes were dark, and the mocking smile dimmed.

"Maybe I did," his gaze dropped to the detective's lips. Sherlock needed no more prompting and closed the gap, his whole body holding Jim to the wall as he took control, his tongue sweeping into his mouth and swallowing a low whimper. He nipped lightly, pleased by the gasp he earned.

"Oh, how _naughty _of you," Moriarty smirked when the detective pulled back. "How disapproving your _friend_ would be if he found us like this."

"And why would I think you actually want that to happen?" Sherlock's chuckle was husky, and he lowered his head to bite and kiss at the other man's neck, smiling against his skin at the sharp inhalation of breath.

"You know me so well," Jim's head fell back against the wall with an audible thump.

"Let's see how well you've done your research," Sherlock murmured into his ear. "For example, do you know which room my bedroom is?"

Moriarty's eyes flew open at that, and he licked his lips, clearly trying to read something in Sherlock's expression.

"I think I could show you," Jim's smile was wicked, and he led his arch-nemesis through the house, turning only for Sherlock to press against him, causing him to fall backwards on to the bed, his legs parting slightly as he fell. Sherlock smirked at that, but didn't question it as he helped the other man out of his suit, tossing each piece of clothing to the ground until Jim was reaching up, pushing Sherlock's clothes aside and pulling the detective close to him, sighing in satisfaction.

"This could be very stupid of you, you know," Moriarty observed.

"What would be truly stupid would be leaving this bed before I've fucked you," Sherlock's voice was like velvet, and the criminal pulled him down into a kiss, rough and biting.

"Better get to it then," he was smirking now, his nails digging into the other man's shoulders. Sherlock reached for the lube off the night-stand, letting it warm on his hands after he'd slicked up his fingers.

Then he was sliding one finger into the man below him, watching as his face twisted with pleasure when he nudged gently against his prostate. He slid in another finger, stretching him, and smirked as Jim groaned when he brushed something inside him that made his back arch off the bed. He manipulated his fingers, angling for that point again, and the criminal gasped. Sherlock couldn't hide his smug smile as he twisted his fingers, making the man whine.

When the third finger slid in, Jim was hissing out his name, clearly wanting _more_. So Sherlock removed his fingers, ignoring the glare he received before he slicked himself up. Then he was pushing in, a smooth glide that made Moriarty buck up beneath him, driving him deeper. The slight burn he must be feeling would only be heightening the pleasure for him, Sherlock knew.

The detective stopped for a moment, letting the other adjust, but Jim pulled him down for a bruising kiss.

"Move," he hissed against his lips, and Sherlock moved back before slamming back in with a snap of his hips. Moriarty cried out, his head falling back as he arched mindlessly into each brutal thrust. Sherlock kept him on the edge of pleasure-pain, making his nemesis writhe below him, gasping out curses and groaning out the other's name.

When he felt he was close, he reached down, jerking Moriarty off in time with his thrusts. Jim cried out, his whole body bowing as he came over his stomach and Sherlock's hand. He clenched down on the detective's cock, and Sherlock emptied himself with a low groan of his name, slumping down beside him.

"I could kill you now," Jim's voice sounded a little shaky.

"You could," Sherlock agreed, glancing over at him. "But where would be the fun in that?"


End file.
